


One Night, and One More Time

by AbsolutelyNothing



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: (kind of??), Businessman!Spencer, Crossdressing, Infidelity, M/M, Maid!Brendon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:05:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsolutelyNothing/pseuds/AbsolutelyNothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer tells himself Brendon isn't trying to seduce him, and the butterflies in his stomach he gets when he thinks about touching the maid don't mean anything. He's wrong on both accounts.</p><p>(also read the notes because this turned out different than what was originally intended)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night, and One More Time

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't slept in like two days and as a result, there's this fic and I'm now an English major. I have so many other things I should be doing. However, this is what was done, and my organic chem professor can suck my ass. Thanks to Katelynn for the beta, and to everyone who's been waiting patiently while I sat here for an hour trying to come up with a title and summary. 
> 
> So, the fic. 
> 
> Originally, this was intended to be a role play scene between Brendon and Spencer, discussed between them and all of the details hashed out. Spencer's wife was fictitious, and there was a scene at the end where they debriefed afterwards. If you want, you can still read it as a role play. I just felt that as the writing went on, Spencer was too emotionally involved for it to just be a role play. Also, I ended up writing a bit of not!fic about Brendon getting ready to go to work, and the events leading up to when Spencer comes home from Brendon's point of view, so. I will say that the thing about the lasagna makes more sense as a role play, though, because I have this idea that Spencer can cook and Brendon can't. Other than that, read it however you want.

Spencer Smith gets home from work at 5:30pm on the dot.

The autumn air is crisp and warm, perfect for late September. He’s left the car in the driveway instead of pulling it in because there’s no chance of rain all weekend, and his wife is gone. Spencer admires the perfectly manicured lawn and ornate landscaping in front of the house as he makes his way to the front door, dress shoes tapping softly against the sidewalk. Spencer’s jacket is laid over his arm, and it takes him a moment to locate his house keys in the pocket. He hums softly under his breath as he unlocks the front door.

Stepping into the entryway, Spencer sets his keys on the small table. He sets the briefcase down next to the table and hangs his coat on the hooks behind the door. He toes his shoes off and neatly lines them up against the wall next to his other shoes before he turns and shuts the door.

There’s a vase of roses on the little table, their strong perfume apparent as soon as there’s no more fresh air in the room. Spencer wrinkles his nose and goes into the hallway. The smell of roses fades considerably, replaced by the scent of meat and cheese, underpaid by the sharp scent of lemon cleaner.

Something clicks against the wood floor, echoing from the direction of the dining room. Spencer frowns in perplexity. The sound is too sharp to be the dogs, and they’re shut in their kennel anyway, per his wife’s instruction. After a couple seconds, a figure comes around the corner and Spencer feels foolish for not immediately recognizing the sound of high heels.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith. I thought I heard you come in,” Brendon says politely, not quite looking Spencer in the eyes. A feather duster is clutched in one hand, while the other smooths the front of his dress down. If Brendon didn’t have a habit of fidgeting constantly, Spencer might almost think he was nervous.

Brendon is the Smith’s maid. He’s Spencer’s age, or at least his application says he is, though he looks younger. Spencer doesn’t know much about Brendon’s life besides Brendon’s got an apartment in the city, and the ring finger on his left hand is decidedly bare.

Spencer’s wife interviewed several potential maids. Spencer has no idea what made her choose Brendon, though he has his suspicions. It doesn’t matter, though, because not only is Brendon wonderful at his job and Spencer’s wife loves him, Spencer is pretty sure he does too. Brendon’s absurdly good looks, all dark hair and dark eyes, don’t hurt.

“Good afternoon, Brendon. The house looks spotless, as always,” Spencer says warmly.

A tiny blush creeps over Brendon’s cheeks. “I’m just doing my job, Mr. Smith,” He murmurs. He shifts his weight to his other foot, drawing Spencer’s attention to his legs. The sheer stockings make Brendon’s legs go on for miles.

Brendon clears his throat and Spencer pulls his gaze away from Brendon’s thighs. He doesn’t blush, but a tiny part of him is ashamed of being so obvious. “What’s for dinner?” Spencer asks abruptly, but Brendon seems to take it in stride.

“Lasagna, Mr. Smith,” Brendon says and turns over his shoulder to glance at the clock. “It should be nearly done, if you’re hungry.”

Spencer takes the chance to sneak a brief peek at Brendon’s legs again. The tops of his stockings just show beneath his dress and his pale thigh is just visible when he shifts his weight again and turns back to Spencer.

Spencer drags his attention away from Brendon’s legs before Brendon has a chance to notice he’s staring again. “Dinner sounds lovely,” He says, a bit too quickly.

Brendon’s answering smile still remains genuine, and Spencer is relieved. Brendon’s probably used to people checking him out. Jealousy stabs through Spencer at the thought, unbidden, and he hastily banishes it before it can develop further.  “And I love your lasagna,” He adds, just to fill the suddenly stifling silence. Spencer _is_ hungry. He’d only had time to get a salad from the deli across the street during his lunch break before rushing back to his office and trying desperately to focus on the paperwork he was swamped with.  It had not been an easy task when his mind kept wandering to his wife in a taxi on her way to spend the weekend in the city.

It’s not that Spencer hates his wife, because he doesn’t. She’s perfectly lovely, and they’re good enough at playing a loving couple. He always makes sure she gets off on the sparse occasions they do wind up having sex, and she mercifully doesn’t want kids, so Spencer thinks he’s not quite as big an asshole as he could be.

It’s something, anyway.

Brendon’s smile widens a bit, and for a moment, Spencer swears his eyes sparkle. “I just took it out of the oven when I heard you pull into the driveway, so it still needs a bit more time to cool off, and I-“ He bites down on his full lower lip, eyes worried. Spencer wants to tell him to stop, or tug Brendon to him and sink his own teeth into Brendon’s lip, just to see what kinds of noises he could get Brendon to make.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have it ready by now. I know I ought to have had it ready and waiting by the time you got home from work, but I-I misjudged; preparation took longer than I expected. And I still need to finish cleaning the living room-I’m nearly done, but-” Brendon babbles before cutting off. He looks mortified, cheeks flushed bright red and eyes looking everywhere except at Spencer.

Spencer finds his worry almost endearing.  “It’s fine, Brendon,” He says kindly. “I won’t die of hunger in the few minutes it takes to cool. You needn’t worry about it.”

Relief smooths Brendon’s features out. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Smith,” He breathes. “I’ll be done cleaning the living room in just a minute, if you’d like to wait in the dining room. I’ve already set the table.”

Spencer shakes his head. “I’ll come with you,” He says boldly. Even though it’s Spencer’s house and he’s got every right to go wherever and do whatever he pleases, an admission he’s actually following Brendon around the house is rather blatant. With a tiny thrill, Spencer again remembers his wife’s absence.

Brendon’s eyebrows furrow in something like surprise, but the next second his face is smooth and blank. Spencer marvels at his professionalism. “Of course, Mr. Smith.” Brendon turns and clicks down the hallway. The patent leather heels of his uniform make him the same height as Spencer but somehow, he still seems much smaller.

Spencer follows him down the hallway, not even bothering to try and conceal how he’s ogling Brendon’s ass. The material of his dress is satiny and it isn’t tight, but the generous swell of Brendon’s ass is quite apparent beneath it all the same.

The lemon scent is much stronger in the living room. Spencer takes a seat on the pristine white leather couch, and picks up a magazine from the coffee table while Brendon goes over to the entertainment center and starts to dust.

Spencer belatedly realizes he’s picked up an issue of Women’s Health, but he’s not really reading it anyway. He peers at Brendon over the top of the magazine, admiring the long line of Brendon’s body as he dusts the top of the television. For a boy, Brendon is ridiculously curvy and feminine. Spencer tries to justify his attraction to Brendon as being purely about how easily Brendon could pass for a girl from the back if his hair were longer and not so stereotypically masculine.

“I really am sorry about not having dinner ready,” Brendon apologizes again without turning around. He runs the duster over the shelf above the television. All of the movie cases previously piled on the shelf are gone, presumably shelved by Brendon back into the space below the television.

“That’s okay,” Spencer says faintly and pretends to be reading an article about five minute tricks to sexy summer hair. The clock on the wall ticks off the endless seconds, and when Spencer’s count reaches twenty five, he looks over the top of his magazine again.

Brendon’s still dusting, humming softly to himself under his breath, something Spencer thinks might be a commercial jingle. He’s not quite tall enough to reach the top of the entertainment center, even with the heels on and he has to go up on tiptoe. The movement pushes his ass out, and Spencer’s been lusting over Brendon for months. Surreptitiously, he lowers his magazine a tiny bit more and glances up Brendon’s skirt.

Spencer very nearly chokes on air. His fingers dig so hard into the magazine he hears the front cover rip, but he doesn’t care.

Brendon isn’t wearing any panties under his uniform.

His stockings go up to mid-thigh, and when he stands straight, his dress comes down and covers him from mid-thigh to neck. Like this though, bent over, Spencer has the perfect view of Brendon’s gorgeous full ass. He can’t see everything; the way Brendon is leaning means he can just barely make out Brendon’s cock between his legs, and Brendon’s not bent far enough for Spencer to see the pucker of his asshole, but Spencer can see his balls, and the roundness of his cheeks. He’s smooth and hairless and Spencer can’t fucking remember how to breathe.

Spencer could get up, go get himself a nice cold glass of water, and just remove himself from the situation. He’s going to do it, too, just as soon as he can tear his eyes away from the pale firm roundness of Brendon’s ass. “Brendon,” He says, proud when his voice doesn’t crack.

Brendon turns around, face unreadable. “Yes?” He chirps, the picture of nonchalance, but his fingers pluck nervously at the hem of his dress. Oh, he knows what he did. He _knows._

Belatedly, Spencer realizes he’s supposed to say something. He can’t think though, not about anything that isn’t Brendon’s naked ass beneath his skirt. Spencer’s fairly certain the image is burned into his retinas. “Um,” He stalls. The smell of lemon burns his nostrils and the room is uncomfortably warm. His tie is uncomfortably tight around his throat, and it takes everything in him to resist loosening it. He sets the magazine down on the coffee table for lack of anything else to do.

Brendon follows the movement, seemingly relieved to be able to look away from Spencer’s face. His eyes fix on Spencer’s lap and even from across the room, Spencer hears his breath hitch.

Spencer’s tenting the front of his crisp black slacks. His blood fizzes in his veins. Brendon isn’t looking away, and Spencer can’t take it.  “Come here,” He says evenly, every nerve singing. His stomach flips over and just for an instant, he regrets the words, but then Brendon swallows hard and obeys, starting towards Spencer. His heels don’t click on the plush white carpet, just sink in with a soft rasping sound. When he’s in front of Spencer, he stops and smooths his dress down again.

“Yes?” He asks again, too loud in the ringing silence. He isn’t quite meeting Spencer’s eyes. The mere inches between them means Spencer could reach out, lift the front of Brendon’s dress and see Brendon’s bare cock, and what the hell.  He wants to. He really fucking wants to. Even more than that, he really just wants Brendon.

 _Fuck it_ , Spencer thinks to himself and pats his lap. “Here,” He says firmly. His heart pounds in his ears, drowning his conscience out in a wash of white noise. Never, in all of Brendon’s eight months of employment, did Spencer ever consider this actually happening.

He’d come close once, coming home from work to see Brendon bending over the kitchen counter crimping the edges of a pie crust. It’d been hot in the kitchen with the stove on, and eighty degrees outside besides, and Brendon hadn’t been wearing stockings. His legs had stretched on forever, smooth and milky white. Spencer had wanted to drop to his knees and taste the miles of skin. When Brendon turned around, Spencer realized he’d crossed half the kitchen without noticing or saying anything in greeting. Brendon said nothing, just gazed up at him, his teeth grazing his lower lip as Spencer got closer and closer, until the freckles scattered across Brendon’s nose were all Spencer could see. Spencer scarcely dared to take a breath, and was three seconds from dipping his head to kiss Brendon when his wife’s puppy had come clicking into the kitchen, collar tags jingling. Brendon started and snatched up a knife and an apple, twin spots of color high on his cheeks, and Spencer went to let the dog out with the distinct feeling of being watched. They’d never acknowledged the incidence, but Spencer jerked off to fantasies of marking Brendon’s pretty thighs up for the next two weeks.

At any rate, though, Spencer hasn’t allowed himself to consciously entertain the possibility of actually fucking Brendon. There are some killer jerk off fantasies stored in his arsenal, but Spencer tries to keep his indulgence just that: fantasy.

Fantasy pales in comparison to having Brendon right in front of him, breath coming unevenly and knees trembling just slightly.

Brendon toes his shoes off. It takes him a moment to get the right one off with the slippery stocking on his left foot, but he manages alright, and then the shoes are kicked aside. Brendon regards Spencer before carefully setting his left hand on Spencer’s right shoulder. Spencer puts his legs together, and Brendon puts his right knee beside Spencer’s left hip. Hitching his skirt up just a little with his free hand, he bends his knees and slides smoothly onto Spencer’s lap. His eyes are focused somewhere below Spencer’s right ear when he settles in.  Spencer’s heart beats so loudly he’s sure Brendon can hear it. Brendon’s weight on his lap is solid, real and warm, but still slight. This close, Spencer can see the mascara smudged black beneath his eyes. A car passes outside, engine rumbling faintly.

“Mr. Smith?” Brendon questions after a minute, eyes flicking up to meet Spencer’s for a brief second. The air around them is pregnant with anticipation, and Spencer himself can hardly breathe for it. Every one of his idle fantasies is coming to fruition, and he didn’t have to do a damn thing.

Spencer touches the hem of Brendon’s dress. The material’s as soft and silky as Spencer imagined. Spencer rubs it between his thumb and index finger, and Brendon watches. “I believe when you were hired, you were given standards for your uniform. A dress code, if you will,” The words just come out of Spencer’s mouth, unprompted. He digs the nails of his free hand into his palm to force himself to stay cool. After all, he’s still Brendon’s boss. He’s still in control, even if Spencer fancies he can feel Brendon’s bare ass against his thighs and his blood is rushing south at a dizzying pace.

A redness spreads over Brendon’s cheeks, but he doesn’t look away. “Yes, Mr. Smith, there is,” He murmurs, going along with it. It’s lucky there actually is a dress code. “But you see, I’m following it. It only says I must be in heels and dress, and stockings unless it’s summer. It doesn’t say anything about me wearing p-panties,” He stumbles on the last word, but holds his head high. Spencer’s rather impressed. It’s got to take a lot of courage to do what Brendon did.

Emboldened by Brendon’s response, Spencer sets the hand playing with Brendon’s dress on Brendon’s thigh, right at the top of his stocking. He strokes the impossibly soft skin of Brendon’s thigh with the side of his thumb, and Brendon shivers. “Is there a reason you wouldn’t be wearing panties? Did you forget, perhaps?”

Brendon’s breath is coming in soft pants. “M-Mr. Smith.” He trembles and something like fear flickers over his face. He makes an abrupt movement, as if to get up, but Spencer’s hands clamp down on his hips, effectively holding him in place. Brendon whimpers. His posture is ramrod straight.

“Answer me, Brendon,” Spencer whispers silkily. Arousal clouds his rational thoughts, and he can’t quite remember why he shouldn’t be doing this. He takes one hand off Brendon’s hip and catches his hand, pulling it between Spencer’s legs. “Do you feel what you do to me?” He asks, and it’s sixteen kinds of wrong but Brendon only fits his hand over the bulge of Spencer’s cock, and it’s also sixteen thousand kinds of right. Brendon’s small hand is burning hot against Spencer’s dick, even through two layers of clothing. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you didn’t wear your panties to work today?”

All the tension seems to drain out of Brendon and he slumps forward. “I’m so horny, Mr. Smith,” He half moans. His dark eyelashes flutter. It’s brazen and shameless and makes Spencer’s cock throb in his pants.

Spencer bites back a groan. “You’re so naughty,” Spencer whispers, unable to contain himself. On some level, he’s still certain this won’t happen. The dogs will come running in, or the postman will come with a package Spencer has to sign for, or the lasagna is going to melt through the counter and they’ll have to call the fire department. In the now, however, he’s just been handed the object of his desire on a silver platter, and he’d be a damn fool if he didn’t take advantage of it.

Brendon nods frantically. “I wanted to be naughty; that’s why I’m not wearing panties. I was just so horny when I woke up this morning, and I knew it would be just you at home tonight, and so I just put them in my bag. I had to keep my legs crossed the whole time I was on the train so no one could see, but I think one lady saw,” Since he’s started talking, the words seem to just keep spilling out of his mouth. He cups Spencer through his pants, rubbing so slightly Spencer wonders if he even knows he’s doing it. “I-I didn’t really mean for you to see, at first, but oh, I couldn’t help it. I knew you were watching me, and I wanted so badly for you to do something about it. I want you to touch me.”

By the way Brendon’s talking, Spencer’s fairly sure he hasn’t been as subtle about ogling Brendon as he thought he was, but honestly, with Brendon sitting in his lap talking about how horny he is, Spencer frankly doesn’t give a damn.

“Are you hard?” He asks Brendon. His hands push beneath Brendon’s dress without waiting for an answer, running up his smooth thighs. His right hand wraps around Brendon’s hard cock, the skin hot and silky smooth beneath his palm. Brendon must have shaved this morning to not have a trace of hair on him. “You are, so hard for me beneath your pretty dress. Such a naughty boy, not wearing your panties.” Brendon whimpers softly and Spencer gives him a slow stroke, base to tip, before letting go. Both of his hands settle on Brendon’s thighs.

Brendon spreads his legs a tiny bit wider and gives Spencer a pleading glance. “Please, Mr. Smith,” His voice breaks, but he maintains eye contact.

“Please, what?” Spencer asks him. The words drip with a syrupy sweetness even in Spencer’s own ears. Brendon’s got to be able to tell it’s all a front, got to be able to tell Spencer’s fifteen seconds away from throwing him onto the couch and pounding Brendon until Brendon’s screaming Spencer’s name. Spencer’s never felt less in control of himself in his whole life. Somehow, the thought is comforting. It’s almost like Spencer isn’t actually himself, like someone else has taken over his body and is leaning in to kiss Brendon’s jaw. There isn’t any smell of aftershave on Brendon’s skin and Spencer kisses him hungrily, trailing wet kisses down Brendon’s throat. He’s not far gone enough to leave marks, but he nips at Brendon’s collarbone and savors the restless noise Brendon makes.

Brendon throws his head back to expose the long pale column of his throat. “Fuck me, please.” He begs the ceiling.

The words echo inside of Spencer’s brain like the tolling of bells. “Fuck,” He mutters. His hands squeeze Brendon’s thighs, nails scratching against Brendon’s stockings. Heat rolls off him in waves. “Fuck, Brendon, yes.” Coming back to himself a little, he glances around the room. “We need-fuck, we need-“

Brendon’s shaking his head. “We don’t,” He says shakily. “I-I brought lube with me, in my bag, and while dinner was cooking, I-I couldn’t _help_ it. I went into your bathroom and I was just so fucking horny, I fingered myself.”

All the air rushes out of Spencer’s lungs so fast he gets dizzy. “ _Fuck_ , Brendon.”  Spencer’s already halfway to coming and he’s not even inside of Brendon yet. None of his fantasies could ever match this. “You’re filthy, God, what am I going to do with you?”

Brendon kneels up over Spencer’s lap, eyes dark and wild. “You should fuck me.” Fingers find their way to Spencer’s zipper. Spencer’s too turned on to do anything but let Brendon unzip him and pull his pants and underwear down just enough to expose his cock. Spencer’s cock is flushed hard, and wet at the tip with precome. Brendon spits into his hand and strokes him a few times to get him wet, his hand steady and firm. His callouses catch on the soft skin and Spencer’s toes curl in pleasure.

This isn’t how Spencer ever imagined fucking Brendon. In his fantasies, he was able to see all he liked, to touch and taste and explore Brendon to his heart’s content. The delicate curves of Brendon’s body would belong to Spencer, and when they fucked, it would be like every piece of a puzzle sliding into place, because they were made for each other.

Even in his mind, Spencer refuses to acknowledge his infatuation with Brendon is, well, more than infatuation. Falling in love with the maid is absolutely preposterous. Having an affair with the maid, while still taboo, is much more acceptable. Plenty of men at Spencer’s office have fucked their secretaries or maids, even if they don’t say so in quite so many words. Bragging about extramarital affairs is a dangerous game.

Spencer, when he was young and naïve and just starting out in his career and marriage, prided himself on staying on the straight and narrow path. Now, with Brendon gripping Spencer’s cock in one hand and lowering himself until the head nudges against his entrance, Spencer’s inclined to discredit the mere existence of straight and narrow.

Brendon drops down on Spencer’s cock in one hot slide and Spencer’s brain whites out for a moment. When he comes back to himself, Brendon’s biting his lip and looking slightly pained. His thighs tremble slightly. Spencer doesn’t even have the words to describe the experience. Brendon’s slick around him, and despite his obviously extensive prep beforehand, still so fucking tight around Spencer’s cock. It’s already better than every orgasm Spencer’s had fucking his wife.

“Oh, fuck,” He breathes out and tangles his hand in the back of Brendon’s hair as he leans in to kiss him. It’s a little sloppy, but Brendon’s making tiny noises into it, and Spencer can’t help himself. He licks into Brendon’s mouth, trying to memorize his taste. Brendon whimpers and squeezes around Spencer’s cock.

Brendon pulls back before Spencer’s ready to be done kissing him, and Spencer chases after his mouth, seeking the contact again. “Wait, wait,” Brendon pants shakily. He puts his hand on Spencer’s shoulders and presses down as he lifts himself up off Spencer’s cock. After a second, he drops back down with a gasp and Spencer groans as his cock pushes deep into Brendon again.

“You’re so big like this,” Brendon moans as he raises himself up again. Spencer’s hands slide down to Brendon’s hips for support. Brendon’s not out of shape, but Spencer knows how quickly his thighs will start to burn.

Spencer braces his feet against the floor and bucks up into Brendon. “Oh, Mr. Smith,” Brendon cries out and fists Spencer’s hair in one hand, the other still on Spencer’s shoulder. Having his hair pulled hurts, and not in a good way, but Spencer doesn’t care when he’s got Brendon in his lap working himself on Spencer’s cock.

“I’ve thought about this,” Brendon moans, sounding half gone and Spencer’s cock jerks.

Spencer’s had more than his fair share of fantasies about Brendon, but the thought of Brendon constructing his own daydreams about Spencer fucking him makes Spencer’s pulse speed up. It’s gotten a good deal hotter in the living room since Spencer got home. “You’ve thought about me?” He asks heatedly. Normally, Spencer would consider asking such a thing a bit forward, but Brendon didn’t wear panties to work today _and_ fingered himself open in Spencer’s bathroom, so in comparison, Spencer decides it’s really not.

“Yes, I-I-“Brendon breaks off and bounces faster on Spencer’s cock, fucking himself hard.

Spencer uses his grip on Brendon’s hips to tilt him back. The slight change in angle has Brendon keening as the head of Spencer’s cock brushes his prostate on every drop down. “I-I f-finger myself at home and I-I imagine it’s y-you, fucking me so good. S-sometimes, I-I don’t take my p-panties off, and I pretend y-you were too impatient and j-just pulled them aside t-to fuck me, _fuck_ ,” The words sound like they’re being punched out of him with every sharp drop down onto Spencer’s cock. Spencer’s dizzy with Brendon’s words. He pictures it, coming home and just knowing Brendon prepared himself; being able to bend Brendon over the counter, pull his silk panties aside, and slip right into him.

“Fuck, I would. You’d be so pretty,” Spencer says recklessly. His orgasm is quickly approaching, far more rapidly than Spencer is proud of, but Brendon gets to him. Spencer can’t stop the words spilling out. “I’d love knowing you were ready for me, so I could pull your panties aside and just push into you, just like today. So wet and open for me, I just slid right in. Just like a girl.”

Brendon shouts and his ass gets so tight around Spencer it forces the breath right out of Spencer’s chest. His pants feel wet, and when Spencer glances down, he’s shocked to see Brendon’s cum all over Spencer’s pants and the bottom of Brendon’s skirt, a sharp contrast to the black fabric.

When Spencer remembers how to inhale, he can smell Brendon’s release, mixed with sweat and fruity shampoo and Spencer’s cologne. Brendon’s stopped moving his hips, but he takes it when Spencer pushes up into him in sharp little jerks, squeezing around Spencer’s cock. Brendon’s fingers curl tightly into Spencer’s shirt and he presses his lips just below Spencer’s ear. “Come inside me,” He whispers heatedly and Spencer nearly swallows his own tongue.

His hips jerk up erratically, losing all sense of rhythm as he empties himself into Brendon. Brendon shifts his weight on Spencer’s lap and whines under his breath, but Spencer’s barely aware. Everything falls away for a moment as he rides out his orgasm, wave after wave of white hot pleasure coursing through him. When he comes back to himself, his forehead is pressed to Brendon’s shoulder and the room is silent except for the sound of Spencer’s labored breathing, punctuated by Brendon’s tiny heaving gasps. Beneath his fingers, he can feel Brendon shaking slightly.

The heady feeling from before is gone, replaced by something stark and heavy. Spencer presses his nose to the satin of Brendon’s dress and inhales the scent of fabric and roses and lemon cleaner. The sex was embarrassingly short, but it was also the best Spencer’s ever had.

Brendon shifts beneath him. “Mr. Smith,” He says tentatively. His fingers are still gripping Spencer’s shirt and he lets go, trying to smooth the wrinkled material out. _Brendon’s going to have to put it in the wash_ , Spencer thinks, and pulls back.

Brendon’s eyes are downcast, fixed on Spencer’s shirt as he futilely attempts to get the wrinkles out. The setting sun catches his face and Spencer’s never seen someone so radiant. His heart beats irregularly in his chest and then rights itself. “Yes, Brendon?” He asks.

Brendon seems startled by the question despite addressing Spencer, eyes flicking up to meet Spencer’s and then quickly away. His hands drop from Spencer’s shirt into his own lap. He tugs at the hem of his dress. “Nothing, sir,” He says after a moment. All of his charm and bravado from earlier seems to have vanished. Silence spans between them, fraught with tension.

Spencer’s fucked his maid. The words stand out in sharp relief in his mind, each letter barbed and flashing. He should feel guilty, probably, but he doesn’t. Oh, he feels a tiny bit bad for doing it on the expensive couch, but the leather is white and the stains won’t show. It’s not like his wife ever sits on it anyway. She prefers the loveseat on the other side of the room, next to the window. She probably won’t even notice.

He doesn’t feel let down, either. The sex was every bit as mind blowing as Spencer imagined it would be. Better, even. Brendon was incredible, every man’s wet dream come to life, and far superior to the best packaged erotica Spencer’s ever seen. Not that it’s ever _good_ ; there’s a contrived quality Spencer can’t stand, even in the best porn. The actors and actresses are there to do their job, and no matter how much they act like they might be enjoying sucking cock or eating ass or peeing all over each other, none of the emotion is real. The people aren’t real; they’re just characters in a poorly written play.

Brendon’s real.

The thought hits Spencer like a two by four to the back of the head. Brendon’s something sincere, and despite his professionalism, he’s pretty much an open book. Spencer realizes how much time he’s spent furtively watching Brendon work, lusting after him, and somewhere along the way, he lost track of when the little things started to creep into the fantasies, things like being able to kiss Brendon whenever he wanted, and to be able to hook his ankle around Brendon’s while they sipped coffee and read the newspaper on Sunday mornings. Clearly, Spencer is a master of cognitive dissonance.

Spencer swallows against a sudden bout of nausea and refuses to entertain that line of thought any further. Brendon is his maid. He and Spencer only fucked. It doesn’t _mean_ anything, and Spencer’s not a schoolboy with a crush.

It’s getting hard to concentrate on anything with Brendon’s ass almost uncomfortably tight around Spencer’s softening cock. Spencer grips Brendon’s hips, lifting him up until Spencer’s cock slips free and Spencer can breathe a little easier. Brendon whimpers at the loss as he settles back in over Spencer’s thighs, and Spencer can’t resist the urge to run his fingers down the cleft of Brendon’s ass to feel where Brendon’s stretched and wet with Spencer’s cum. Brendon rocks back and Spencer’s cock twitches painfully. “You like that,” He says in wonderment. After he and his wife finish, she doesn’t like Spencer to keep touching her. Usually, they just roll over to their opposite sides of the bed and go to sleep.

Brendon has the grace to look embarrassed. “I-like being full.”

Spencer wonders if he’s died and gone to heaven, because never, in any of his fantasies did such an incredibly hot string of words leave Brendon’s mouth, and the Brendon in his fantasies was a master of dirty talk. There’s a run in Brendon’s left stocking, though, up near the top, and a tomato sauce stain on the otherwise spotless white fabric of Brendon’s apron, and Spencer doesn’t dream in nearly so much detail.  

“I’d love if you spent the night,” Spencer whispers huskily before he can stop himself. It’s as close as he’s come to acknowledging anything other than his sexual attraction to Brendon, at least out loud.

A light blush dusts the top of Brendon’s cheeks. “I don’t have anything with me,” He whispers. “J-just my uniform. And I-I have to work tomorrow morning.” The words rankle Spencer. He didn’t know Brendon had a second job, and his mind immediately jumps to Brendon cleaning some other couple’s house, to some other man putting his hands on Brendon’s hips and fucking him while his wife is out.

Spencer kisses his throat. “Call in. Tell them you’re sick,” He murmurs against Brendon’s skin. The other phantom man will just have to content himself with jerking off while mourning the loss of Brendon’s ass. “I want to spend the whole weekend with you, until my wife gets home.”

Above him, Brendon stiffens, breath coming faster. “Your _wife_.” He sounds stricken and Spencer wants to bite his own tongue off for letting the words come out of his mouth. Spencer doesn’t feel guilty about his infidelity, but Brendon’s obviously got a moral compass.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have-” Brendon pushes at Spencer’s shoulders until Spencer reluctantly sits back. “And I-on your _pants_ ,” He touches the drying cum on Spencer’s black dress pants. They’re definitely going to stain, there’s no doubt about it. When Spencer looks up, he’s surprised to find Brendon’s eyes swimming with tears.

“Hey, hey,” Spencer says hastily. Raw emotions are bubbling up in his chest and he sets a possessive hand on the small of Brendon’s back. “It’s okay, I can have them dry cleaned.” He cups Brendon’s cheek. “Don’t cry, baby,” He whispers, and starts in surprise. The pet name wasn’t supposed to slip out.

Brendon’s eyes slip shut at the word, eyelashes inky black against his pale skin. He shakes slightly, but when he opens his eyes again, they’re dry. “Don’t call me that,” Brendon whispers in anguish. Spencer opens his mouth to apologize, something he can only remember doing a handful of times in his adult life, but Brendon adds, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” in such a quiet voice even with the silent room and Brendon’s proximity, Spencer still has to strain to make the words out.

Spencer’s heart slams against his ribcage. “You have?” He asks, hardly daring to believe it. He hadn’t quite started convincing himself yet Brendon only did this because he was bored and horny, but he’d been working up to it.

Brendon nods. “Yes,” He says, and Spencer frowns at the resignation in his voice. Brendon shouldn’t ever sound resigned to wanting anything, especially not Spencer. “But-you’re married, I know, and I know it doesn’t matter what I feel,” Brendon hastens to say when Spencer doesn’t say anything. “I won’t say anything at all to your wife, and I completely understand if you’re going to fire me-“

“Fire you?” Spencer cuts in, too surprised to keep quiet. The thought of firing Brendon has honestly never entered his mind. All of his thoughts have been tied up with how to get Brendon to stay, to get as much time with Brendon as he can. The last thing Spencer wants to do is send Brendon _away_. He squeezes Brendon’s hip through his dress. “Brendon, I don’t want to fire you.”

Brendon’s eyebrows draw together in surprise, but he doesn’t wipe his face blank this time. “Y-you don’t?” He asks. The hesitance tugs on something in Spencer’s chest, right behind his heart. God, he’s so fucked.

“No,” Spencer tells him firmly. Whatever else they’ve fucked up, Spencer refuses to lose this. He shouldn’t want his maid so badly, but Spencer’s been telling himself those words for months like a mantra and it’s futile. Brendon’s irresistible, and Spencer’s intoxicated by him. “I-I don’t know what’s going to happen after this weekend, but I want you,” He adds, because it’s true. No matter what else Spencer might feel about the situation, his top priority is keeping Brendon. It’s selfish, so fucking selfish, but Spencer can’t care right now. He’s already come this far; he’s got to see it through. He might regret it later, but he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t.

Brendon trembles. “Don’t say that,” He whispers. His fingers clutch at Spencer’s shoulder, blunt nails digging in even through Spencer’s shirt. “We can’t, it’s wrong.”

Spencer puts his fingers under Brendon’s chin and tips his head up gently. “I don’t care.” He leans in until he’s too close to focus on Brendon properly. Brendon whimpers under his breath, but doesn’t move. Spencer’s heart twinges. “If you don’t want this, push me away. Tell me to stop.” Every breath hits Brendon’s upper lip. This close, Spencer can smell the scent of Brendon’s body wash, fruity and distinctly feminine.

“Please,” Brendon whispers. His arms slide around Spencer’s neck and his chest is rising and falling rapidly.

“Tell me,” Spencer demands. He grips Brendon’s thighs. He needs Brendon to say it. Spencer won’t do anything unless Brendon admits to wanting this just as much.

“Kiss me,” Brendon half moans and Spencer acquiesces willingly. He kisses Brendon so hard their teeth click together painfully. Brendon makes a pained noise, but doesn’t pull back, and Spencer gentles the kiss. One hand finds its way into Brendon’s hair, and he tangles his fingers gently in the short silky strands under the guise of holding Brendon close, even though Brendon’s only pushing closer. They kiss until Spencer starts to feel light headed and has to pull back to breathe.

Brendon’s lips are red and kiss swollen. He looks just as wrecked as Spencer feels. Spencer’s starting to get hard again, and it’s ridiculous; he hasn’t been ready to go again so fast since he’s been married, but Brendon is intoxicating. Kissing Brendon makes Spencer feel like he drank an entire bottle of wine with dinner. The thought reminds Spencer of the lasagna getting cold on the kitchen counter. He can’t quite bring himself to care. They can reheat it later, or toss it out altogether it’s congealed in the pan.

“Spend the weekend,” He says again. It’s not begging, but it’s as close as Spencer allows himself to get.  He has an image to maintain, after all. Not that anyone would really believe Brendon if he were to spread rumors around about Mr. Smith asking him to stay the weekend, but Spencer would have to address them, and just the knowledge the rumors are true would ruin him inside. No, he won’t show such vulnerability to Brendon yet, even if he wants to keep touching Brendon so badly his fingers itch with it.

He runs his fingers restlessly up and down Brendon’s arms in an attempt to satisfy the craving, the soft hair tickling his fingertips. Spencer idly wonders whether his arms are the only place Brendon didn’t shave himself.

“I-” Brendon starts. He squirms on Spencer’s lap but doesn’t make any move to get up. Spencer waits with bated breath. “Yes, okay, but I have to call the supermarket to switch my shifts,” Brendon finally says and Spencer surges up to kiss him before he’s hardly finished talking, not letting himself think about how needy it seems. (How needy he really is.) Brendon squeaks and nearly tips off Spencer’s lap in surprise, but tries to return the kiss before going pliant and just letting Spencer ravage his mouth.

Spencer pulls back after another moment, breathing heavily. “I want you in my bed all weekend,” He half moans. Brendon’s eyes go dark. “I have a whole list of things I want to do to you, and I want to hear about every single thing you imagined doing with me, too. We’re going to do them all.”

Brendon laughs breathlessly. There’s a touch of sadness to it. “That’s going to take more than a weekend.”

Spencer pulls him closer. “We’ve got time. I promise,” He tells Brendon. Spencer doesn’t know how he’ll make it happen, but he will. A million half formed ideas of running off with Brendon are flitting through his mind already, and Spencer indulges, gives himself the luxury of ignoring reality.

Come Sunday night, Brendon will have to take the train back to his apartment in the city and Spencer will have to kiss his wife hello when she comes back from the airport. Every single one of the next forty-eight hours has to count. It’s not ideal, and there are still a thousand things they need to say and think and feel, but they can wait.

Because, as Spencer hooks his hands under Brendon’s thighs, high up so they don’t slip on the silk of Brendon’s stockings, and stands, making Brendon screech and throw his arms around Spencer’s neck and wrap his legs tight around Spencer’s waist so he doesn’t fall, Spencer’s truly happy for the first time in a very long time.

Because Brendon holds on tight as Spencer carries him upstairs, to the bedroom, (Brendon deserves to be fucked in a bed, not relegated to a secret on the couch) and giggles the whole way up, sounding as exhilarated as Spencer suddenly feels, even if he’s clinging to Spencer just a bit too tightly for it to be only for the support.

Because for now, just being together is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> still at confessyourprayers.tumblr.com


End file.
